


Gas-n-Sip Stop

by Ealdwic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, DeanCas - Freeform, Humor, Implied Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sam Finds Out, Sam POV, Sorta by accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealdwic/pseuds/Ealdwic
Summary: Sam's got some leverage, and Dean's kind of just totally at a loss.Or, the one where Sam finds out, and is a bitch.





	

As he steps out from the small gas-n-sip, Sam adjusts the cashmere scarf coiled around his neck, tugging the fabric up to his chain from where it’s drooping low. He pulls a short breath in, and it hisses out, his jaw set tighter now that the air is just freezing outside. The snow comes down in relentlessly endless flakes, the wind creating piles of white, icy drifts that go up to his ankles, and he trudges across the freeway when the cars clear into a nice, small break from scarce traffic.  
  
He’s glad that they had all stopped off, turning in last night at some roadside hotel, a reprieve from the long road trip. Sam is equally as glad that he had the forethought to plan a short run out to grab them all some appropriate clothing for the chilly winter weather. It’s only November, but the snow’s unending, and it’s honestly more than frigid out for Kansas temperatures.  
  
Sam’s limbering by the Impala from where it sits, frosted and snow swept, the drifts licking at the black tires, and he thinks that Dean will be glad to know that it’s just started to build up and they won’t have to painstakingly try to rescue the vehicle from the parking lot stall.  
  
Sam struggles the spare car key out of his pocket just as he notices then that the engine is running, purring lowly, the sound lost a little under the whistle of cold wind whipping his toque somewhat askew. He pulls it low over his ears while he’s staring at the fogged-up windows of the car, and stops short, registering just now that he’d left the other two inhabitants of their motel room in the throes of sleep. They were seriously conked out, Dean’s body practically pretzel-ed beneath the scratchy complimentary blanket on the small two-seater sofa, and Cas, sprawled like a starfish in the second double bed, buried under his trench-coat.  
  
He's twirling the keys around his finger, still staring, and he wonders when Dean had come out to warm the Impala up. How did the back seat of the car get so dewy? He swears he’s only been gone for a handful of minutes, just long enough to grab a latte for himself and pick out a small bag of instant coffee for the lazy pair still presumably in the room.  
  
He’s just about to trot past the ’67 when he stills, again, catching a blur of some sort of motion inside the back of the Impala. He can’t really see inside, not much, but the car’s rocking, like a metronome ticking side-to-side on its haunches. It’s only just noticeable, and he would’ve missed it entirely, had he not also seen what ends up being Castiel’s tie, looped around one of the door handles. It stands out starkly, blue and white against the dark paint, blowing limply from where it’s hooked on.  
  
Several conclusions dawn on Sam then, and he feels the breath punched from his lungs, this time not at all from the cold.  
  
Looking down at his cup, he drags his finger along the lid, circling it and feeling it burn under his nails. It’s kind of a blessed distraction, because he doesn’t really know whether he’s embarrassed, shocked, blindsided, or feeling totally nauseated right now. There’s also this sense of _finally, oh my god_ , echoing in his head.  
  
_Dean’s in the Impala. With Cas. Cas’ tie is on the handle._ Sam’s been to college – he’s not an idiot, he knows what that means.  
  
He shudders and coughs once, and then he’s gone, all but running to the hotel building, retreating like a kid who just saw his mom and dad going at it in the living room and got caught. He’s sure neither of the car’s current occupants even realized he was there, let alone are aware of anything but each other, and he’s thankful they didn’t catch him, staring stoically and semidetached at the window where Dean’s hand-prints are marking it up, because yeah, that’s… the honest truth, because when he slams the room door closed and leans back on it, the heat from his cheeks dissipating, he’s definitely alone, and obviously where Dean and Cas are **not**.  
  
Sam’s kind of not surprised but also a little seriously like, _really?_ Dean’s totally unconventional ways of telling him things – well, Sam thinks he’s taken it a little too literally. He knows he misses things once in awhile but he’s well and truly gobsmacked. Not really surprised, but shocked it took less time than he ever imagined they would spend, dancing around each other like horny, stubborn teenagers. He’s suddenly feeling pretty queasy giving it any thought so he chugs down his French vanilla gas-n-sip special and starts packing up everyone’s respective bags, gear and clothing and weapons hauled into the luggage.  
  
He resolves to stay turned away, not looking over his shoulder when the two of them – Dean and the angel – return, Dean making a show of nonchalance as he clears his throat and thumps Sam on the shoulder.  
  
“Mornin’, sunshine. Good to go?”  
  
But Sam’s finally got some leverage on his brother, and he doesn’t intend to let it slip by. He’s hit gold, and he’s gonna cash in.  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure, now that _you two_ have thoroughly _woken up_.”  
  
He’s still not looking at them but he can practically hear Cas stiffen a few feet from his bed, and Dean makes a fairly impressive imitation of a toddler needing the Heimlich, launching into a coughing fit, thumping his chest once, twice to dislodge the spit he’s so eloquently choking on.  
  
When Dean can apparently talk without needing air, and Sam finally turns to enjoy the hilarious fall-out, he beats Dean to the punch before he can even try and backpedal on the situation.  
  
“It’s cool,” and he finds he more than means it.  
  
“Just… maybe tell me to go get some air so you guys can be alone, y’know? So I’m _not_ having to potentially hang out in the backseat of the place where you guys just got busy?”  
  
He says it calmly enough but Sam can’t help but want to break into a cackling fit over the sheer level of the uncomfortable, **jesus-christ-no** defensive expression that’s written all over Dean’s face.  
  
Cas nods, like he’s being assigned a duty, and doesn’t carry on about it even a little, and Dean just squeaks uselessly for a minute.  
  
“Uh- ok, sorry, yeahalright,” he says, ever the wonderful linguist. Sam finally laughs at that, unable to keep it in, and it’s a loud guffaw. He smirks at the deep pink heat that washes all across and over Dean’s face. He’s still mortified, but this is his brother, and his best friend, and well… this was a long time coming, he reconciles.  
  
Still, he’s pretty proud of how well he handles it. Turns out Sam’s better than Dean at these things.  
  
When they’re all loaded up and ready to go, Dean guns the engine and they pull out, headed off to the next city with Cas in the back and Sam sitting shotgun.  
  
The air’s still a little awkward, though, so Sam pokes the bear by giving his brother a resolute slap on the back, smirking all the while.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes, and groans. “ **Dude** ,” he says, flatly.  
  
Sam laughs but lets it go, and they all three carry on, this time without the tension as it breaks up.  
  
Sam crosses his arms and settles in, and he thinks, _Sam – 1, Dean – 0._

**Author's Note:**

> ...Hah!
> 
> My try at Sam humor/general humor. Sam's such a troll.
> 
> Based off of this fan-art, because it needed to happen. Hooray!  
> http://i63.tinypic.com/55ll4.jpg


End file.
